


Cop

by WatMcGregor



Series: Cop, Couple, Coping [1]
Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatMcGregor/pseuds/WatMcGregor
Summary: Callum's the one-night stand that won't go away.Originally posted as a multi-chapter fic back in 2020.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Series: Cop, Couple, Coping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080875
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Cop

ONE - POACHED EGGS ON TOAST

Ben braces himself with his fists grasping the rails of the headboard as it bangs against the wall with every thrust. This guy – Colin? Callum? – is good. He knows what he’s doing. Big, just the way Ben likes it, filling him up. The guy knows it, too. He utters a breathless ‘OK?’ every now and then, checking in on Ben, making sure he’s not hurting him. He’s considerate, but not to the extent that he’s ruining the experience - he’s not one of the ‘hold hands and cuddle’ brigade, for which Ben is truly thankful. He’s not stopping to ask him if he’s taking it OK, just huffing out the quick question on the occasional laboured breath as he keeps pounding him, his face screwed up in ecstasy and sweat rolling down his temples. Ben wonders what he’d do if Ben told him he wasn’t OK. It feels like they’re both too far gone to stop now in any case. Ben’s been answering his questions with hurried nods, but on the next enquiry he turns his face to the side and ignores him, so the guy stops asking and focusses on thrusting harder and faster, pushing Ben up the bed on every stroke. Ben can feel himself zoning out, everything fading around him apart from the feel of this guy all over him, his scent and the sounds they’re both making. He’s reaching that point where his brain flips off and animal instinct takes over. It’s what he does this for. Going out hunting for a bloke who can switch off the thoughts and the feelings; who can make him feel that nothing else matters but the growing tightness in his balls and the thick cock deep inside him.  
This guy’s a dream. He’s losing his rhythm now, thrusting haphazardly and uttering low, guttural groans with every stroke, but he’s also reached down to take Ben in his fist, pumping him with an urgency that matches his own need to get off. He’s as focused on Ben getting what he needs from this as he is on his own desires, and they both tip over the edge at pretty much the same second, the guy tensing and then releasing inside Ben with one final grunt just before Ben feels his own orgasm washing over him with an intensity that leaves him boneless and shaking in the aftermath.  
There’s a second where it feels like they’re both frozen in place, and then the guy pulls out slowly and flops down beside Ben, still gasping for air.  
They lie side by side on their backs, close but not touching. “Well,” says Ben when he can trust himself to speak again. “That was quite somethin’.”  
“Yeah.” The guy giggles – he honest-to-god giggles! “It don’t always work like that, does it? Everythin’ aligned then though. Think we got it about right.”  
This guy really is something else. “Think we did,” agrees Ben.  
The guy swings round onto the side of the bed to sort out the condom, dropping it onto the floor once he’s tied it off and then stretching his long body back down beside Ben, propping his head up on his hand and looking at Ben with wide eyes. Wide, very blue eyes, with long eyelashes. “Might be up for round two in a bit,” he says hopefully.  
“Yeah, maybe,” says Ben. “What did ya say yer name was again?”  
The guy’s forehead furrows, and his eyes drop to somewhere near Ben’s chest. “Callum.”  
“Ah,” says Ben. “I knew that.” One or the other – Colin or Callum. He’d been close enough.  
The curtains billow gently into the room on the breeze coming through the open windows, and the sounds of the world outside make themselves apparent again now that Ben’s brain has flipped back into functioning mode, traffic and chatter filtering in from everyone out doing what they do on a Saturday night.  
“How come I ain’t seen you out on the scene before?” asks Ben, letting his eyes slide closed and running a finger slowly through the mixture of cum and sweat that’s cooling on his stomach.  
“Ain’t bin out long,” says Callum.  
Ben opens his eyes and turns onto his side to stare at him in disbelief. The bloke must be a couple of years older than him, late twenties at most; too old to only just be coming out. “Seriously? How did ya get that good that quick, then?”  
The guy shrugs. “Practiced. I’ve bin home with a lot of blokes, picked it up as I went along.”  
“Blimey,” says Ben. “You like throwin’ yerself into new experiences with a vengeance, do ya?”  
Callum grins bashfully. “S’pose so. Never really thought about it. There ain’t no point doin’ somethin’ badly, is there?”  
“S’pose not” agrees Ben. “And I’m guessin’ there ain’t been no shortage of blokes willin’ to give ya lessons, am I right?”  
The guy looks even more bashful. “I’ve had a few.”  
“I’ll bet ya have.”  
Ben’s eyes travel over the guy’s face. He’s got an open, honest look to him. If Ben hadn’t just had the shag of his life he’d have guessed he was a bit of an innocent, but with the blood still throbbing in him from where he’s just been given what he can only term a very good seeing-to, he wonders if this bloke might not have hidden depths. Those eyes, though. He could fall in love with those eyes, if he let himself.  
He clears his throat and sits up. “Right, well, I think I wanna call it a night. Can you let yerself out? I just gotta go and…” he indicates the cum on his stomach “…clear up a bit.”  
The guy’s face drops. “No round two?”  
“Nah, not tonight. Cheers though. It was great. Just what I needed.”  
“Oh, OK.” The guy stands up and begins searching for his clothes on the floor. Ben admires his arse as he bends over, then makes his way to the bathroom to switch on the shower.  
And if, a few minutes later, he can’t hear the guy calling out a ‘bye then,’ to him over the sound of the flowing water, well. He can be forgiven for not replying.

Showered and feeling well-rested, his muscles relaxed and his mind still for once, he makes his way into the kitchen to find a beer. There’s a scrap of paper on the kitchen table, the guy’s name and a mobile number. Nothing stupid like a kiss or anything. If there had been, it would have gone straight in the bin. Ben picks it up and peruses it for a second or two, then tosses it back down and makes his way to the fridge. It’s still early, only just before ten, and he’s not got work in the morning so he gathers three bottles of beer in his arms, their coldness a welcome chill on his chest where his dressing gown’s hanging open, and takes them over to the couch.  
It’s been a sweltering summer so far, the kind that makes you more horny than usual, and he’s been feeling restless lately. He’s not sure exactly what’s biting at him, but he feels like maybe it’s time to move on. He’s not sure where he’d go, and in any case, he can’t make himself scarce until the arrangement with his dad’s new business partner’s run its course. Dodgy motors. Again. Ben’s practiced at sorting out the doctored paperwork and shifting them in double-quick time, but it seems that the more he shifts, the more come onto the lot. It’s taking on a momentum of its own, and he’s beginning to feel he’s losing a bit of control. Not that he ever had very much to begin with, mind you. It’s Phil’s deal. Phil who calls the shots. Phil who reminds Ben he’s lucky he tolerates him and his queer ways every time Ben starts to step out of line.  
Ben lies on the couch in the silent flat, his first bottle of beer balanced on his chest, and looks around the room, reflecting that if he did do a moonlight flit, he wouldn’t exactly need a removal van. The walls of the second-floor flat are as bare as when he moved in eighteen months ago, and the built-in bookshelves in the corner are empty save for a pile of the junk mail that seems to get pushed through the door in increasing volumes every day. Leaflets for discount pizzas, funeral parlours and tree surgeons bundled with several editions of the local freebie paper and plastic bags printed with requests for donations of spare clothing in aid of Romanian orphanages or dementia patients. One day he’ll have a clear out. Dump it all in the bin outside without even looking through it.  
The sounds of Gladys’ telly filter through the wall from next door. There’s the sound of canned laughter, in a rhythm Ben can almost predict without even seeing the show or knowing what it is. Every now and again, he’ll hear Gladys guffaw, or clear her throat.  
Eventually, he hears movement; the sounds of the telly being unplugged, and Gladys heading off to bed. She moves slowly. Whenever she sees him she tells him she’s a martyr to her arthritis and cusses her son who never comes to see her. Ben knows he does, because he’s eyed up his arse on at least a monthly basis. He’s not much to look at, a bit on the old side, but his arse isn’t half bad. As far as Gladys is concerned though, her waste of space of a son never comes to visit. They’d had a bit of a falling-out about a year ago, from what Ben can gather, when Gladys had suggested the time might be right for her to go and live with the son, and the son had politely but very firmly told her she didn’t stand a chance in hell. Funny, the stories we tell ourselves. Gladys has a no-mark son. Ben’s doing just fine. The stories we tell to keep ourselves going. 

The next morning, he wakes soaked in sweat, tangled in the bedsheet and exhausted. The effects of his session with Callum with the wide blue eyes have worn off, apart from a little bit of soreness. His mind’s running as fast as it ever has. With Callum’s help he’d only managed a temporary respite from the loops his brain runs on. His dad, Paul, the business deal. The business deal, Paul, his dad. And on and on…  
He’s at a loose end with no work to go to, so he sets about cleaning the flat from top to bottom, bundling all the junk mail into a bin liner and scouring the flat for anything else that needs to be thrown out. He tends not to keep very much these days. There’s no point being sentimental about any of it, so into the bag goes the flier for a new club night that he’d shoved in the drawer of his bedside cabinet, along with a letter from Paul’s nan and some out of date food from the back of the fridge. He pauses when he comes to the scrap of paper on the kitchen table, though. He may not need a tree surgeon or a funeral director in the near future, but you never know when the services of larger-than-average Callum might come in handy. He shoves the piece of paper into the kitchen odds and sods drawer instead.  
He’s returning from taking the rubbish out when Gladys emerges from her flat next door to him, trailing her tartan little shopping trolley behind herself. She fumbles to lock her door as Ben’s opening his.  
“Alright, Glad?” he asks.  
She throws a dirty look at him. “Paper-thin, you know. These walls are paper-thin.”  
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “I could hear yer telly last night, plain as day.”  
“And I could hear you, ‘entertaining’,” she responds. “I’m surprised yer up walkin’ this morning with the way the bed was movin’ around. I had to turn me telly up, you know!”  
He grins cheekily at her. “Well, it was a very thorough work-out, Glad. Very thorough indeed.”  
She tuts. “Yer a godless heathen, that’s what you are.”  
“Yep, I guess I am. Just the cross I’ve gotta bear though, ain’t it?”  
She points at him with a knarled finger. “You joke about it while you can! It’s never too late to repent. God loves a sinner.”  
He just about refrains from rolling his eyes. “Listen Glad, I’m goin’ to hell. I already know that and I’ve made me peace with it, so don’t you worry, alright? Between you an’ me, it sounds more fun than heaven anyway.”  
“Heathen!” mutters Gladys as she manoeuvres her shopping trolley around on the landing and then sets off stiffly down the stairs, the trolley bumping down each step after her. He hears her still muttering as she disappears out of view. “Why you can’t settle down with a nice young man, I’ll never know.”

By the following weekend, he’s had a guts-full. Phil is becoming increasingly demanding. He’s working to a quota, and Ben isn’t shifting the cars quick enough. He might have known he couldn’t rely on Ben to come through for him. Ben is making him look like an idiot in front of Danny Hardcastle, his latest business associate. What can you expect when you ain’t got a real man to work with? And on. And on.  
Mid-way through the Friday afternoon, Ben’s feeling like punching a wall. He sacks off work early and cracks open a can of beer as soon as he walks through the door to his flat. It’s still sweltering and he doesn’t feel like eating, so he fixes himself a piece of toast at about seven fifteen, and then contemplates getting ready to pop round the Albert.  
He takes a quick shower but stalls afterwards, part-dressed, in front of the telly, half-watching the general knowledge round on Mastermind and half psyching himself up to go out. It all feels like such an effort though. He’s horny. He wants sex, but he just can’t be bothered with the whole rigamarole. Dressing up, cruising the club, picking out the bloke he wants and then making sure he knows he wants him. Manipulating it so that the bloke thinks he’s the one doing the chasing. It all gets to be a bit of an effort.  
He’s never been the kind of guy to use escorts. That smacks of a desperation he’s never had. He knows he’s not the best-looking bloke in the world, but he also knows he’s got a certain cocky swagger that attracts a fair few blokes, so he doesn’t need to pay for it. He does sometimes have to work for it, though, and that’s the stumbling block tonight. What he needs is sex on tap, available whenever he wants it, just like discount pizza.  
He crosses to the kitchen drawer and roots around to find the scrap of paper with Callum’s number on, his brain fogging with thoughts of what they’d got up to the previous weekend. He’s pretty sure Callum’s never had to work for it in his life. He might already be hooked up for the evening, but it’s worth a try. Ben generally tries not to go for repeat performances; he can do without blokes getting clingy; but needs must, sometimes. Any port in a storm, and all that.  
He shoves spare batteries and light bulbs aside in the drawer, digging under pens, fuses and random electrical cables until he finds the piece of paper he’s looking for.  
The message he sends is brief and to the point. You up for round two?  
The reply comes nearly twenty minutes later. Who this?  
Ben really hopes he isn’t playing hard to get. He can’t be doing with any games tonight. He sends back another message. We hooked up last weekend.  
He’s pleased to see that the reply is a bit quicker this time. Ben, right?  
Yup.  
Send me your address again. Just got off shift. Be with you in two hours?  
Ben sighs. He might be asleep in two hours, the way his week’s been. He just wanted a quick bit of relief before sending the guy on his way again. He ignores the message and watches the first few minutes of Gardener’s World, but his mind is already running a replay of the way Callum had felt inside him, and he’s half-hard in a matter of seconds. He huffs out a sigh and snatches up his phone again. K, C U later, and adds his address.  
Never before in his life has he felt so aroused watching Monty Don planting herbaceous shrubs. He wriggles around on the couch like he’s got ants in his pants, wondering if Callum’s doing this on purpose. Suggesting a delay of two hours before they get together is tantamount to torture. The guy must know the effect he’s having. Ben even crosses to the window at about half nine, peering out to see if he can spot Callum loitering outside, waiting the requisite time until he judges Ben will have reached boiling point.  
When there’s finally a tap on the door just before ten, he’s ready to run across the room and mount Callum there and then on the doorstep. He collects himself and takes a couple of deep breaths, then saunters over to open the door with a nonchalance he’s not feeling.  
“Y’alright?”  
“Yeah, you?” Callum sounds out of breath, like he’s just run up the stairs, but he’s not got a hair out of place and his eyes are as stunning as ever. Impressive, not stunning. They would impress someone who was willing to be impressed. Not Ben.  
Callum follows Ben into the room and throws the bomber jacket he’d been carrying down on the armchair, glancing around himself and taking in the room. “Sorry I couldn’t come earlier. I’d just got off shift when you messaged.”  
“Yeah, you said,” replies Ben as he heads for the bedroom. “Right, you ready?”  
Callum swings round to face him, looking a little taken aback. “What? Straight away? You not got a drink or somethin’ I could have first?”  
“A drink or somethin’?” asks Ben impatiently.  
“A beer? Maybe?” asks Callum, sitting down.  
Ben rolls his eyes and heads for the fridge, taking out two cans and handing one across to Callum.  
“Thanks. It’s still hot out there,” says Callum, cracking open the can. “Out there on the mean streets.”  
He huffs out a laugh and Ben’s heart sinks as he settles back down on the couch. He’d not really had the occasion to talk to the bloke last weekend; they’d pretty much just got down to it as soon as they’d tumbled through the door, snogging the faces off each other. He’d not really bargained for the fact that Callum might have some kind of personality. That it might be a really annoying personality.  
“You just moved in?” asks Callum, looking around the room with those wide eyes.  
Ben frowns. “No, why?”  
“Oh, sorry,” says Callum, looking embarrassed. “I just thought…” He tails off and throws a half-smile at Ben. “You just like living minimally then, obviously. Wish I could, but my gaff looks like a bomb’s hit it most of the time.”  
“Can we just do the sex now?” asks Ben in a flat voice.  
Callum’s face shutters, the smile fading away. “Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. I’ll shut up.” He takes a swig from his can, looking chastened. He swallows and then adds, “I just thought some conversation would be nice before we started.”  
“Conversation?” asks Ben.  
“Yeah, get to know each other a bit. I find it makes the sex better.”  
“Really?” asks Ben drily. “I find the opposite.” He sees Callum’s face fall again and feels like he’s just kicked a puppy. More to the point, he panics that the guy might just stand up and walk out before giving Ben what he wants. He huffs a sigh. “OK. Conversation. I can do conversation.”  
They sit in silence for a few seconds while Ben thinks of a conversation starter. The theme tune to The News at Ten filters in from the flat next door. “OK,” says Ben at last. “You said you were just finishing a shift. What d’you do for work?”  
Callum’s been looking expectant, awaiting Ben’s conversational gambit with a faint smile on his face. Now he frowns and looks uncomfortable. “Uh… security. I’m a security guard.”  
“And you’ve just got off shift?” asks Ben. “Don’t security guards usually work out of hours?”  
“Um… I guess?” Callum shifts awkwardly, and reaches forward to put his beer can on the coffee table. “Which way was your bedroom again?”

He’s just as good as Ben remembers. Possibly because once they get down to it, he stops talking and assumes a look of keen concentration, focusing on getting it right. It works, though. Ben doesn’t feel like the guy’s trying too hard; after the initial period of reacquainting themselves with each other it all just falls into place as it should, and they part afterwards, spent and sweaty and breathless again, just the way he likes it. His whirring brain slows down for a few minutes again.  
They lie in silence, side by side on their backs like last time, close but not touching, and Ben is starting to drift off to sleep when Callum stirs and clears his throat. “You always do it that way?”  
“Huh?” asks Ben, coming to with a start.  
“You ever top?”  
“Uh, occasionally, yeah.”  
There’s another silence and Ben starts to drop off again.  
“You wanna top now?” asks Callum.  
“What?” murmurs Ben. “Go again?”  
“Yeah. If yer up for it.”  
Ben had been preparing to rouse himself to kick the guy out, but now he can feel a stirring that tells him a second round might just be a very good idea. “OK. You, uh, you need to get ready?”  
“Nah, I’m good. Ready when you are.”  
With a tilt of his chin, Ben indicates the drawer on Callum’s side of the bed that houses the lube and condoms, and Callum twists round obediently to retrieve them. Ben holds out his hand to take them, but instead Callum plucks a condom from the pack and snaps open the tube of lubricant. “Here, let me.”  
Ben screws his eyes shut as Callum goes down on him, getting him hard before rolling on the condom and slicking him up with lube. He could get used to this level of attentiveness.  
Callum slides back up the bed when he’s ready, looking nervous. “Okay.”  
Instead of rolling onto his back, as Ben expected, he moves in close and runs a soft hand up Ben’s chest, caressing the planes of his body and sliding his hand up around his neck and into his hair. Ben’s suddenly struck by the fear that the guy’s going to kiss him. He grabs his hand to flip him over onto his back, and begins positioning himself. “How d’ya want it?”  
“Hard,” says Callum, closing his eyes. “And fast.”  
“OK, I can do hard and fast.”  
He CAN do hard and fast, but a weird thing happens as they get into their groove. Staring down at the guy, watching the blissed out look on his face and the way his eyes widen as Ben hits just the right spot inside him, Ben’s struck by an urge to slow it down; to make it last. He wants to make it as good for this guy, Callum, as Callum had made it for him. He concentrates on smooth, steady strokes, and they lock eyes as he slides in and out of the guy. It feels intense, intimate, and even more so as Callum slides a hand around the back of his head, anchoring him.  
It lasts even as they come, almost in sync like before, until Ben is jolted out of the moment by a sudden realisation that what they’d done hadn’t felt like sex. Not just sex.  
He breaks eye contact with the guy, feeling his stomach crawl with embarrassment, and rolls over onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.  
“That was pretty amazin’,” says Callum “Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome,” says Ben in a tone that attempts to reset the appropriate level of intimacy between them.  
They lie in silence again, until Callum says, “You don’t say a lot, do ya?”  
Ben ignores him. The guy’s a hook-up, not a psychoanalyst.  
“Man of few words, huh?” asks Callum, huffing a laugh.  
Ben’s stomach rumbles, causing Callum to huff out another laugh. “You eaten tonight?”  
“Uh, yeah,” says Ben, with a pointed look down at Callum’s crotch.  
“Ha, funny,” says Callum. He shifts around to face Ben. “I can’t eat much in the evenin’s at the moment, It’s too hot, ain’t it? Don’t feel like food until late when it cools down, and by then it’s too late, ain’t it?”  
The need for a response from Ben is avoided by his stomach giving another loud grumble. Callum grins at him and then swings out of bed, picking up his underpants on the way out of the room.  
Ben assumes he’s heading to the bathroom. “Second on the right,” he calls after him, but when Callum hasn’t returned after a reasonable period of time, he suddenly realises that he can hear noises coming from the kitchen. Pots and pans being banged around.  
He swears under his breath. What the hell is the guy doing? He reaches over the side of the bed to grab his boxers and slides them on, then heads out to see what the bloke’s up to.  
“What the hell are ya doin’?” he asks as he’s met with the sight of Callum in front of the cooker, breaking eggs into a bowl.  
“Poached eggs on toast do ya?” asks Callum.  
Ben sits down at the kitchen table, feeling like he’s just experienced a disturbance in the space-time continuum. “What?”  
“I’m cookin’ for ya,” says Callum. “You won’t sleep if yer hungry, will ya?” He busies himself with pouring boiling water from the kettle into a pan. “Hope ya don’t mind me sayin’ but you ain’t got a lot of food in yer cupboards. Poached eggs was all I could think of to do. Hope ya like ’em.”  
“WHAT are ya doin’?” asks Ben. “Yer a hook-up, not me wife.”  
Callum turns to face him, looking like a puppy that’s expecting a tap on the nose for peeing on the carpet. “Have I over-stepped the mark?”  
Ben throws him a look that screams “Duh!”  
“Sorry,” continues Callum. “It just, well you seemed like you was hungry. Like maybe you don’t cook for yerself very often, and you ain’t got any pictures on yer walls, and - ”  
“So you feel sorry for me?” cuts in Ben. “This is a pity poached egg?”  
“Nah, course not,” says Callum. “It’s an ‘I fancied doin’ somethin’ nice for ya’ poached egg. That’s all.” He turns back to the cooker and makes a minute adjustment to the gas, then turns back to Ben. “You want me to just go?”  
Ben huffs out a breath and throws his hands up in the air. “You may as well finish what yer doin’. They’re almost poached now, ain’t they?”  
Callum glances round at the eggs. “Err…yeah. Could you put a couple of slices of toast in the toaster?”  
Ben throws an astounded look at his back – his very muscular back, that’s wide at the shoulders and tapered at the waist, just as it should be – but does as he’s told.  
As they wait for the toast to be ready, Callum pads out to the living room and returns with their cans of beer. Setting them down on the table, he hunts around until he finds cutlery and plates, and then dishes up the toast and eggs. Ben just watches him from his seat at the table, wondering when exactly this evening tilted so wildly out of control.  
Callum comes across to sit opposite him. It’s ten past midnight and they’re sitting in their boxers, drinking warm beer and eating poached eggs on toast, when all he’d wanted was a blow job and an early night.  
And the worst thing is, after they’ve finished he can’t possibly send this guy on his way, out into the night on his own, when he’s just given him multiple orgasms and poached eggs on toast, which is why, at ten to one in the morning, they’re both settling down into Ben’s bed and pulling the sheet over themselves as Callum murmurs, “Night, Ben.”  
Ben squeezes over to the far side of the bed so that no part of his body is touching Callum’s. “Night.”

TWO - CHINESE TAKEAWAY

The next morning, it’s awkward. The kind of awkward that churns in your guts and makes you wish you’d never woken up. The guy doesn’t seem to feel it though. He’s one of those annoying pricks who spring back fully-formed into the world every time the sun appears over the horizon, full of lazy chatter and easy smiles. A bit like someone else Ben used to know, when he thinks about it. Ben’s more of an ‘ease yourself into the day gently and silently’ kind of guy.  
They spend an excruciating twenty minutes eating toast and drinking coffee at the kitchen table, and then Ben thinks it’s about time he sent the guy on his way.  
“Right, I’ve gotta go down the shop, so you may as well buzz off now an’ all.”  
The guy, Callum, had been midway through a run-down of all the neighbours in his block of flats, describing each one in turn in minute detail. Ben had been hunched opposite him slurping noisily from his coffee and hoping to god the bloke didn’t live in a twenty-storey high rise.  
Callum stops mid-sentence and a frown appears on his face. “Oh! Sorry. I thought -. Never mind. I’ll just go and fetch me trainers from yer bedroom.”  
He disappears and then strides back into the room, crossing to sit down and pull on his shoes. “What you got planned for the day then?”  
Ben’s first instinct is to tell him to mind his own business. He shoves their mugs and plates in the sink beside the pan from last night’s poached eggs, and runs a bit of water over them. “Goin’ out to get some food,” he says, “as apparently my cupboards are bare and that’s an indication that me life is empty and futile.”  
The guy has the good grace to look a bit embarrassed. “I weren’t criticisin’ ya.”  
“No, no, it’s fine,” Ben assures him, waving away his concerns. “I’ve seen the error of me ways. Never again shall I not have the ingredients for a slap-up six-course meal in me cupboards.”  
The guy looks unsure if he should laugh along with Ben, or if he’s actually the butt of the joke. He bends his head to tie up his laces, and then jumps up. “Right, ready.”  
Ben picks up his wallet and keys, and leads the way out of the flat. As they come out onto the landing Gladys is hovering in front of her open door, running a duster over the door handle.  
“Ah, thought I heard voices in there,” she says. She looks Callum up and down appraisingly. “Managed to hold onto this one, did ya?”  
“Well good mornin’, Gladys,” says Ben in an artificially cheery tone. “Just happened to be out here polishin’ yer knob, did ya?”  
“I like to keep everythin’ spick and span,” she says reprovingly. “You could take a leaf out of my book young man.” She turns to Callum and holds out a hand, looking for all the world like the queen greeting a loyal subject. "I'm Gladys. The neighbour."  
Callum breaks into a wide grin and shakes her hand gently. "Callum."  
"Don’t introduce yerselves,” says Ben. “He ain’t stoppin’.”  
“Y’alright Gladys?” asks Callum, ignoring Ben.  
“Well, not so good today, as it ‘appens,” says Gladys. “Me arthritis is playin’ up somethin’ chronic. Thank you for asking, Callum.” She throws a look at Ben as she says it, and he rolls his eyes, cursing his life.  
“I’m just goin’ down the shop,” he says grudgingly. “You want anythin’?”  
“Which shop?” she says immediately, pouncing on his words.  
“Tesco.”  
“Oh, well, I could do with some bread. And some jam tarts for me tea. Shall I get ya some money?”  
“No, don’t worry,” says Ben in a world-weary voice. “We’ll settle up when I get back.”  
He heads off down the stairs, Callum following close behind, and as they emerge out onto the street, Callum pokes him in the stomach. “I knew there was a big softy in there somewhere.”  
Ben is busy looking up and down the road to spot a break in the traffic so he can cross and get away from the guy. He looks round at him and slaps his hand away. “Huh?”  
“That was a really lovely thing to do, offerin’ to get her shoppin’.”  
Ben is at a loss for words. He really hopes he’s not just encouraged Callum. The guy seems like he wouldn’t need very much encouragement at all to get very clingy very quickly.  
“Yer a good bloke, Ben, underneath that grumpy exterior,” says Callum. “I knew it!” He leans in and kisses him. “Have a good day, an’ call me. Or I’ll call you. One or the other, OK?”  
He backs away up the street, and Ben stares after him for a few seconds until he turns with a wave and a grin, and is swallowed up by the crowds of people bustling along the pavement on their weekend errands.  
Ben scrubs at the corner of his mouth where Callum’s kiss had landed. He wasn’t aware he HAD a grumpy exterior. And if he has, well it’s not his fault.

By the time he gets back from his shopping trip, he’s made a decision. The guy, Callum, seems to be insinuating his way into Ben’s life a little bit too easily for Ben’s liking. He’s not looking for a boyfriend, despite what Gladys (and, he assumes, Callum) might think. He’s had one of them, and look where it got him.  
He knocks on Gladys’ door to hand over her shopping, and as she roots around in her purse for what she owes him, she says, “That Callum seemed like a nice boy. A very nice boy. You could do a lot worse, ya know.”  
“Yep, thank you Gladys,” he says in a tone designed to shut her up. “I ain’t lookin’ for anyone, alright?”  
She places a pile of change in his hand. “Well you should be. Yer on yer own too much.” She adopts a wicked grin. “Good-lookin’ too, that Callum. If I was twenty years younger…”  
Ben scoffs. “Twenty? And the rest! Besides, I don’t think you’d be his type, Glad.”  
“Oh, I know,” she says. “Such a shame, you boys. I’ll pray for ya.”  
Ben snorts, and unlocks the door to his flat.  
He’s made a decision. He crosses to the odds and sods drawer and pulls out the scrap of paper with Callum’s number on. He tears it up into tiny pieces and shoves them deep down into the bin. Then he deletes his number from his phone.  
After he’s put his shopping away and admired how full his kitchen cupboards look, he crosses to fill the sink with water so he can wash up the breakfast things and the pan from last night. He stares down at it as it disappears under the soapy washing-up suds and surprises himself by feeling a bit melancholy. If he’s really honest with himself, it had felt nice to have someone else bumbling around in the flat for those couple of hours, even if it had been an annoyingly cheerful busybody. Still, no good thinking like that. It might have felt OK at the time, but people never stick around, do they? You’re always left alone sooner or later. Better to cut out the pain and not get involved.

Ben braces himself with his fists grasping the rails of the headboard and tries not to roll his eyes with every corny utterance made by the guy on top of him. He’s clearly been watching A LOT of porn.  
It might be doing it for the bloke – Simon? Steven? – but it certainly isn’t for Ben. He screws his eyes shut and tries to get into the zone.  
“Oh yeah, take that di -”.  
“OK!” says Ben, his eyes shooting open again. “This ain’t workin’ for me.” He pushes at the guy’s shoulders. “Get off. I’ll finish meself off.” He rolls over with his back to the bloke and fists himself lazily, but even that isn’t doing the trick.  
“You want me to do anything?” asks the guy. “You want me to talk dirty to you?”  
“No!” exclaims Ben. He rolls over onto his back again and fixes the guy with a steady look. “You know what? If you left now, you could get back out there, find someone else before the clubs shut, know what I’m sayin’?”  
The guy looks disappointed. “Uh, yeah. OK. I’ll just…go, then, shall I?”  
“Think that’d be best.” Ben gives him a wide smile that he’s not feeling, and closes his eyes.  
He can hear the guy moving around the room, dressing himself again. “Right,” he says eventually. “I’ll be off. Another time, maybe, yeah?”  
Ben raises a hand in farewell without opening his eyes, and rolls over to go to sleep.  
He’s made the right decision, he knows he has. It’s just that… sex with Callum had been mind-blowing; he thinks maybe he’s spoilt him for anyone else. The fact remains though, that sex with Callum showed signs of coming with a side order of emotions. Messy emotions, and that’s something Ben can do without. It doesn’t stop him regretting the fact that he’d got rid of the guy’s number though. He can always find time for a helping of mind-blowing sex.  
It’s been a week and a half now, and he’s not heard a peep from the guy. He knows it’s for the best, despite what Gladys tells him every time he bumps into her on the landing. The night after porn-guy’s visit, she’d called him back as he was heading down the stairs.  
“You made the right decision,” she said as he backtracked up to the landing.  
“Huh?”  
“Last night. Kickin’ that specimen out before you’d finished.” She holds a hand to her chest, like a distressed damsel. “The mouth on him! I didn’t know where to look, and I was in here on me own.”  
He blinks at her. “Oh my god! Just how thin are these walls, Glad?”  
“Thin, is all I’m sayin’. Very, very thin.” She points at him, giving him a severe look. “You’d be better off gettin’ that nice young Callum back. Nice polite young man, he was. Didn’t have a mouth on him the like of which - ”  
“Glad, he was a one-night stand. I ain’t even got his number anymore.”  
She looks sorrowful. “Well, you missed yer chance then, didn’t ya? Boys like him don’t come along very often.”  
“You only met him for twenty seconds! He could be a mad-axe murderer for all you know.” Ben turns to make his way down the stairs again. “I gotta go. Got a business meeting.”  
He’s been summoned before his dad and Danny Hardcastle. Phil had presented it as an opportunity to review their sales strategy. He knows that’s code for ‘point out how useless you are’, and he’s bracing himself for an evening of frustration.  
He’s not disappointed. By the time he gets out of the meeting, he’s ready to kick the nearest wall. He’s well aware he’s a disappointment to his dad, but Phil sees fit to remind him on a regular basis in any case. It’s a new low for him to do it in front of a business associate though. The bloke – Hardcastle – had stared coolly at Ben like he was something he’d stepped in on his way to the pub they’d met at, mainly because Phil had had a visit from the Old Bill, though Ben can’t work out how that would possibly be his fault.  
“It were only two junior plods,” Phil had growled, “but even they get lucky sometimes. They didn’t find anything, but we can’t be too careful. You,” he’d pointed a finger in Ben’s face, “need to step up or yer gonna let us both down.”  
By the end of the meeting, Ben had felt like telling the pair of them to stuff their car deal where the sun don’t shine. He day-dreams on the walk home that evening about throwing the whole lot over and telling them to sort it out themselves. He tries to imagine what he could do instead, if he were to go legit without the support of his dad.  
He's just turning into his apartment block when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at it.  
Had a bad cold. Sorry for radio silence.  
It’s an unknown number, and for a second he can’t work out who it’s from. Then he puts two and two together, just from the random nature of the message. His heart does not skip a beat. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and ignores it.  
The second message comes when he’s sitting down at the kitchen table with a cuppa. You be up for round three this weekend, maybe?  
He would be up for round three, but it’s not worth it. He ignores the message again.  
There’s a final message later that night, just as he’s getting ready for bed. Will leave it for you to get in touch.  
He stares at it for far longer than is necessary, and then deletes the entire thread of messages in a swift movement, throwing his phone to one side before he can regret it.  
That’s the end of it. The guy must have got the message, because Ben doesn’t receive any more texts that weekend, or the following week, and he begins to breathe easy again. His life will not be derailed by messy entanglements. He’s in control again, and that’s how he likes it.  
The weather’s been getting progressively hotter and more sultry. It feels like everyone in the whole world is on edge, melting under the heat and waiting on tenterhooks for the storm that’s surely coming to break the heatwave.  
It breaks just as he’s returning to his flat on the Sunday afternoon after a quick lunchtime half at the Albert. He’d been going stir crazy in his flat, alternating between lying flat-out on the couch in his boxers to try and keep cool, and sitting at his kitchen table in his boxers scrolling through Grindr on his phone, before giving up at the prospect of having to engage with another human being. In one last-ditch attempt to salvage his frankly underwhelming weekend, he’d taken a quick shower and headed out for a quiet half.  
As he walks down the road on the way back to his building, the heavens open with a roar of thunder and he’s drenched within seconds. He curses, and quickens his pace.  
He climbs the stairs to his flat shaking water out of his clothes and smoothing his hair back from his forehead, and stops dead as he hears voices coming from the landing. For god’s sake! The guy’s stalking him!  
He’s sitting on Ben’s doorstep, conversing with Gladys, who’s leaning against her open door. It looks like the pair of them have been there for quite a while. He looks like he’s made himself at home.  
“Ah, here he is,” announces Gladys as Ben reaches the top step.  
Callum jumps to his feet and smooths down his hair. His immaculate hair, that doesn’t have a single strand out of place. Ben squeezes a bit more rainwater out of his own, and glares at him. “What you doin’ here?”  
“You didn’t answer my texts,” explains Callum. “Thought you mighta had that nasty cold I went down with. Thought I’d come and check you were OK.”  
“See, NOT a mad axe-murderer,” says Gladys.  
“Yes, thank you Gladys,” says Ben, dismissing her with a look. It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Gladys sees ‘not a mad axe-murderer’; he sees ‘possibly unhinged stalker’.  
“You get caught in the storm?” asks Callum.  
Ben doesn’t even dignify that with a reply. “You’d better come in, I s’pose.”  
He hears Gladys tut as he unlocks his door and heads inside.  
He goes to fetch a dry towel from the cupboard in the bathroom, and by the time he gets back Callum’s already made himself at home. The kettle is on and he’s searching around in the kitchen cupboards for mugs.  
“You got a thing about my kitchen cupboards?” asks Ben. “You gonna come round periodically to check out how full they are?”  
“Well, now you mention it, they’re lookin’ quite healthy at the moment,” says Callum, grinning across at him.  
Ben fights to control the smile that threatens to spread across his own features. He hides his head in the towel and dries off his hair. When he surfaces again, he says, “Seriously, Callum, what you doin’ here? You can’t just turn up on me doorstep.”  
“Why not?” asks Callum. “I was worried about ya. Thought I might need to make ya some chicken soup cos you was ill.”  
The guy is unbelievable. If he could find the energy, Ben would start to get annoyed at his persistence. He indicates himself with a flourish of his hands. “Not ill. As you can see.”  
“Quite soggy though,” says Callum. He wanders across to stand right in front of Ben. “I could help ya get out of them wet clothes, if ya wanted.”  
“Don’t need any help,” says Ben, swallowing hard.  
“You sure?” Callum reaches out and pulls gently at the hem of Ben’s t-shirt. His fingers travel lower, toying with the button on Ben’s jeans. “Sure I can’t help you out of these? Cos you know how tricky jeans get when they’re soakin’ wet, dontcha? You might need someone to peel ‘em off ya…”. He glances up at Ben’s face, and seeing no resistance, slides down the zip and pops the button.  
Ben takes a deep breath. The guy needs to go. He’ll tell him so. Any second now.  
Callum slides his hands down the back of Ben’s jeans, cupping his arse cheeks.  
Any second.  
“You’ll catch yer death of cold if you don’t…strip off,” says Callum, his voice getting low and husky.  
“Yeah,” breathes Ben.  
Callum takes the towel from his hands and throws it to the side. It lands on the kitchen table and then slides off onto the floor. He pushes Ben’s t-shirt up his chest and waits for him to raise his arms so he can slide it off over his head. Ben’s arms, his treacherous arms, raise of their own accord, and suddenly he’s naked from the waist up, pulled in close against Callum’s chest. Callum wrangles his jeans down his thighs and pulls him in close again for a kiss. Ben can’t tell him to leave if he can’t form words. He tried his best. That’s all he can say. He tried to make the guy leave. He kisses back.  
In one last fluid movement, Callum steps back and pulls Ben’s jeans and boxers down his legs, then sinks to his knees on the kitchen floor.  
Ben wakes from a post-sex snooze an hour later to feel warm breaths huffing against his ear and an arm slung across his waist. He turns in the bed to come face to face with Callum.  
The guy smiles at him. Ben senses it’s a bit of a triumphant smile. He shakes his head.  
“I don’t even know what yer doin’ here.”  
“I’m givin’ ya mind-blowing sex, on the hour every hour,” says Callum.  
“I’ve been taken advantage of,” says Ben, pushing the guy’s arm away from his waist. “You caught me when I was at my weakest.”  
“I caught ya when you was at yer soggiest,” says Callum.  
“Yer a stalker,” counters Ben.  
Callum smiles wide again, like he’s amused at the idea. “I ain’t a stalker.” He runs a finger down Ben’s chest. “Persistence is a virtue, s’all.”  
“I’m pretty sure it ain’t,” says Ben. “But seein’ as yer here. I could go another round if ya wanted?”  
“Excellent,” says Callum, grunting as he reaches round to grab another condom from the bedside drawer.  
Afterwards, they lie facing each other, Callum scrutinising every inch of Ben’s body that’s visible; Ben watching Callum watching him.  
“You gettin’ pally with old Gladys, was ya?” he asks. “Before I got back?”  
“Hmm,” murmurs Callum. “She was fillin’ me in on ya, just a bit.”  
“Oh yeah? What pearls of wisdom did she share?”  
“D’you know what?” asks Callum. “I’m hungry. Turns out this sex game makes ya starvin’. You wanna order in some Chinese takeaway?”  
Ben narrows his eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice ya changin’ the subject just then,” he says, wagging a finger at Callum. “As it happens, though, I am quite hungry myself. What d’ya wanna order?”  
Two hours later, they’re propping each other up on the couch, both full of Chinese food and still drowsy from their afternoon exertions. Ben could get used to this. It’s been nice. They could be friends, maybe. Friends with benefits.  
“So,” says Callum, trailing a finger up and down Ben’s arm. “Gladys did mention somethin’.”  
He sounds tentative. Ben peers round at him. “Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah. You don’t have to tell me, but… who’s Paul?”  
Immediately the moment is ruined. A tidal wave of pain and grief wash over Ben, as acute today as it ever has been. He jumps up and towers over Callum. “Is that what you spent yer time doin’ before I got back? Gossipin’ about me with that old witch next door? Where d’ya get off, Callum?” He jabs a finger at him. “Paul ain’t none of yer business. You ain’t fit to even say his name!”  
Callum is sitting bolt upright, his face red. “I’m sorry, I - ”  
“Get out!”  
Callum’s face twists into a pained smile, as if he thinks Ben’s joking.  
“I mean it, Callum! Get out!”

THREE – COD AND CHIPS

He slams the door behind Callum and rests his back against it, more angry than he can possibly articulate. Outside on the landing he can hear Callum pacing around. His footsteps get louder as he comes closer to the door again, but there’s a hesitation, and the next thing Ben hears is him making his way down the stairs. Then there’s silence.  
It’s Ben’s own fault. He’d started to get complacent, started to think maybe he could enjoy this time he was spending with Callum, but the universe had done what it always does when Ben starts to feel that he deserves some happiness: it had kicked him in the guts and ripped it all away from him, reminding him in no uncertain terms that he was to blame for the loss of the only person who’d ever meant anything to him. Who is he, to think he deserves the good things in life? He deserves what he’s got: a lonely, empty existence, well away from anyone who might be harmed by him.  
He heads into the kitchen and the sight of the towel he’d used to dry himself off with, lying on the floor where it had fallen earlier, only serves to reinforce those thoughts. He kicks it across the kitchen, followed by one of the chairs for good measure. The chair clatters across the floor and ends up on its side by the fridge. Ben slides down in front of the sink and rubs his eyes with his knuckles.  
Some time later he hears Gladys’ door open, and then there’s a tentative knock on his own door. He ignores it, and a few seconds later, Gladys’ door closes quietly again.

Alone is best. Alone means never getting hurt; never having to compromise; never having to navigate the complicated web of emotions and actions that are involved in being around other people. He wakes up early the next morning tangled in a bedsheet that smells of Callum. The light’s flashing on his phone, indicating he’s received a message.  
He picks it up and stares blearily at the screen. Apart from the text there have been three missed calls, all from Callum. Of course they’re all from Callum. Ben opens the text, preparing to delete it almost before he’s read it.  
I’m so sorry. Please call me, I wanna put this right.  
Ben deletes it.  
As he’s locking his door prior to heading off to work, Gladys’ door opens just a sliver, and he sees her beady eyes peering out. “You alright my dear?”  
He ignores her, and she opens the door a little wider.  
“Only, I heard banging and crashing last night. Wondered if you was alright.”  
He turns to her with a flash of anger. “Listen, Gladys, maybe you should concentrate more on yer trashy telly shows and stop bein’ such a nosy old witch!”  
He knows he’s gone too far even before he sees her eyes widen and her mouth open to form a silent ‘O’. The knowledge makes him even angrier. How dare she make him feel this way! He lashes out again. “Yer a nosy old bat who needs to get herself a life, Gladys! Gossipin’ about me as if I’m one of yer bleedin’ soap operas.” He steps closer to her door and she pulls it nearly closed. “Mind yer own business!”  
He turns on his heel and stomps down the stairs before she can reply.  
His anger propels him as far as the car lot, but by the time he’s sitting down behind his desk, he’s feeling like the biggest bastard in the universe. No change there, then. He drops his head into his hands and rubs wearily at his eyes. This is what happens when he tries to act like a normal human being. He alienates everyone around him and ends up pushing them away before they realise what a disgusting excuse for humanity he is and push him away first. It’s what would have happened if he’d allowed Callum to stick around.  
He receives another message from him around mid-morning, just a simple Please call me. He deletes it immediately.  
On the way home from work that evening he stops off at the off-licence and returns home, two plastic bags clinking with bottles as he climbs the stairs. He doesn’t even get as far as his door before Gladys is standing in her own doorway with her arms folded. He throws a shamefaced glance at her and then concentrates hard on fitting his key into his door-lock.  
“Come in here,” she commands.  
“Glad, I’m worn out, I just wanna - ”  
“You get in here! Now!”  
Resistance is futile. He follows her reluctantly into her living room, which is crowded with heavy, dark furniture and papered in a mind-bending flowery wallpaper. Little china knick-knacks clutter every available surface: china dogs and shepherdesses and cheap souvenirs from seaside holidays; evidence of a past life lived to the full.  
“Sit!” says Gladys, gesturing at the armchair next to the electric fire.  
Ben dutifully sits, placing his off-licence bags at the side of the chair as Gladys takes her place in the other armchair.  
Ben wriggles around, loosening his tie, fiddling with the top button of his shirt, and crossing and uncrossing his legs. Eventually, tucking his chin onto his chest and speaking in a low, reluctant voice, he says, “I’m sorry. This mornin’. Me goin’ off at ya. I shouldn’ta done it.”  
“No, you shouldn’t,” agrees Gladys. “You feel better now?”  
“Not really.”  
“Was it about Paul?” she asks.  
His eyes tighten, the way they always do when that name is mentioned. He nods.  
She sits quietly, watching him for a few seconds. He can’t meet her eyes. Eventually, she shifts and says, “I wasn’t gossiping. I told that nice boy about Paul because I thought it might help him to understand why you’re… like you are.” She leans forward and places a liver-spotted hand on his knee. “You told me about him when you were at yer lowest ebb, and it took a lot of courage to do that. But you can’t get through this life on yer own, Ben. You need a little bit of help. We all do.”  
He forces a grin, trying to shrug off the sombre mood. “You about to recruit me as one of Jesus’ little sunbeams, Glad?”  
She slaps his knee and sits back in her chair, a look of disgust on her face. “You joke about it all you want, but you know I’m right. We all need help to get through this life, and whether that’s God in all his glory or a nice-looking boy who’ll rummage around in yer underwear, well, we’ve all got to take what we need.”  
He genuinely grins then, feeling a sudden fondness for her. “I’m sorry Glad,” he says with more feeling. “I was ‘orrible to ya.”  
She waves away his words. “You was just hurtin’. I understand that. You should reach out to that boy though. Explain to him what you’ve explained to me.”  
“Maybe,” he says, still unconvinced. “I think I just need a bit of time on me own.”  
“Pfft! You’ve had more than enough of that to last you a lifetime.” She indicates the bags of booze at the side of his chair. “And that ain’t gonna help, neither.”  
“Probably not,” he concedes.  
“Right, well,” she says, standing up and sounding business-like. “You was a nasty so-and-so this morning, so I’ve bin thinking about how you can make it up to me.” She crosses to pick up her purse from the sideboard. “You can pop down the chippy, get us both cod and chips, alright?”  
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Yer takin’ advantage of me, Glad! Everyone always takes advantage of me!”  
She waves a twenty-pound note at him. “Go on, be off with ya.”

He holds out until the Wednesday afternoon, but Gladys’ words go round and round in his head, and he finds himself falling into the trap of believing her. Maybe life could be easier if he reached out to people instead of pushing them away. He turns it all over and over in his brain, and reasons that there may not be any harm in having people around. As long as they don’t get too close.  
As the week progresses, he also starts to feel a bit guilty about the way he’d treated Callum, so on the way home from work he composes a text.  
Can you find a few minutes for me in your busy schedule? Think maybe I wanna explain.  
His stomach clenches as he sends it, and then comes the wait. Maybe Callum’s given him up as a bad job. Maybe he doesn’t want to meet up. There’s a part of Ben that would be relieved if that were the case. He feels like he’s just put himself out there a little bit too much.  
The reply comes an hour later, just as he’s reconciled himself to a life alone again.  
Always. Friday night? 7? Yours?  
He sends back a quick OK and tries not to dread it for the rest of the week.

He leaves work early on the Friday and spends a couple of hours cleaning the flat and putting clean sheets on the bed, just in case. He’s pretty sure Callum won’t be bothered what state the flat is in, and the purpose of the evening is not to get him into bed, but it never hurts to plan for all eventualities.  
Dead on 7pm, there’s a knock on the door. Ben takes a deep breath and crosses to answer it. Callum’s looking good, in skin-tight jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, but whatever Callum’s wearing is beside the point. Tonight is not about what clothes he’s wearing. And it’s also not about whatever clothes he ends up not wearing.  
He looks a little wary as he steps over the threshold clutching a six-pack of beers to his chest. “I, um…I brought ya these,” he says, thrusting them at Ben. His t-shirt has little damp patches from the condensation on the cans.  
“Thanks. You, uh… you had a good week?” asks Ben.  
Callum looks taken aback at his attempt to be a normal, sociable human being. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. You?”  
“So-so,” says Ben, placing the beers on the coffee table and indicating for Callum to sit on the couch. He takes a seat at the other end as Callum says, “I’m sorry about before. I shoulda minded me own business.”  
“S’OK,” says Ben.  
Callum looks like he doesn’t believe him. “Yer neighbour didn’t tell me anythin’ really. We weren’t gossipin’ about ya, Ben.”  
“I know,” says Ben. “I spoke to her.” He busies himself with pulling two of the cans of beer away from the pack and handing one to Callum.  
He cracks open his can and then fiddles with the ring pull, steeling himself for what’s about to come.  
“Me ‘n’ Paul.” He takes a deep breath. “We was nineteen when we got together. It was like somethin’ out o’ West Side Story, complete opposites, we was.” He takes another breath, delaying the inevitable. “West Side Story’s me favourite musical,” he says with a sideways smile at Callum. Even telling him that tiny morsel of information feels like putting himself out there a bit too much.  
Callum is looking intently at him, beer can forgotten in his hand. He smiles faintly and nods encouragement.  
Ben takes another breath. “He was… everythin’ I’m not. Beautiful, open, carin’. Everyone who met ‘im loved ‘im.” He smiles at the recollection, and then chuckles. “God knows what he saw in me! We was together just under a year, and then…” He falters.  
“S’OK,” says Callum. “Take yer time.”  
Ben takes a long swig of his beer and slowly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I… I killed ‘im,” he says eventually.  
He glances across at Callum. The guy’s trying hard to maintain a neutral expression, but his eyes are just a little too wide for it to work.  
“Not literally,” adds Ben. “But I may as well ‘ave.” He shifts position, sitting forward and hugging his arms around himself.  
“We was coming back from a club and these blokes started on us at the bus stop, mouthin’ off about how disgustin’ we was.” Ben shakes his head slowly. “I shoulda let it go. I shoulda.”  
He peers round at Callum with tears in his eyes.  
“But ya didn’t,” prompts Callum.  
Ben shakes his head, wiping his eyes with a rough hand. “Course not. Paul was tellin’ me to ignore ‘em, but I think I’m the big I Am, don’t I? So I start givin’ as good we was gettin’ and that just provoked’ em more.” He sniffs. “I think they’dve left it at a bit of name-callin’ if I hadn’t waded in. Pretty sure they would’ve.”  
“And what happened?” asks Callum, in a tone that suggests he already knows the ending to Ben’s story.  
Ben sniffs again. “What d’ya think happened, Callum? They beat the crap out o’ the pair of us. And Paul…”  
He can’t say the word. Callum nods slowly at him. Ben’s almost thankful that he doesn’t say anything. There’s a space of a few seconds when he doesn’t get to hear Callum’s words of condemnation, when he can kid himself that Callum won’t be horrified and start making excuses to leave. He swallows thickly and takes another long draught of his beer. From the corner of his eye he can see that Callum’s still looking closely at him.  
Eventually, Callum stirs. “You do know it weren’t your fault, yeah?” he says in a soft voice. He shifts along the couch and runs a gentle hand along Ben’s thigh. “I mean, I‘m sayin’ that out loud cos I’m guessin’ you ain’t really had many people say that to ya, yeah?”  
“It WAS,” says Ben.  
Callum shakes his head vigorously. “It weren’t yer fault. They chose to have a go at ya. You didn’t pick the fight with them. They’re scum.”  
The vehemence of his statement takes Ben aback.  
“I see people like that every - ”. Callum trails off and then sighs. “Don’t matter.” He puts an arm around Ben’s shoulders, and Ben tries hard not to shrug him off. “Listen, Ben, I can see how an experience like that would make ya wanna push people away, but you ain’t a bad person.” He rubs his hand up and down Ben’s arm. “We all need other people sometimes, it ain’t a weakness to admit it.”  
Ben sniffs again. “Gladys said somethin’ similar.” He turns his head to look Callum in the eyes and tries for breezy nonchalance, his movement bringing their faces very close together. “You ain’t just been round there, have ya? Workin’ out between the pair of ya what you was gonna say?”  
Callum grins. “I didn’t have any idea what YOU was gonna say, so I ain’t prepared anythin’.” He must see that Ben is uncomfortable with the position they’re both sitting in, because he releases him and scoots back along to his end of the couch.  
“You can’t keep people at a distance just cos yer scared they’re gonna get hurt,” he says. “Or that you are,” he adds.  
Ben’s astounded at how quickly Callum has pinpointed exactly what makes him tick, he doesn’t even bother to deny that that’s what he does. The guy’s got him spot-on. He swallows hard, trying to deal with the fear of being seen so clearly by another human being. They sit in silence, taking the occasional swig from their cans every now and then, and the sound of Gladys’ telly drifts through the wall from next door.  
Eventually, Callum crushes his empty beer can and places it on the coffee table. “OK, so here’s a suggestion, right?”  
Ben peers round at him. “O-kaay…”  
“I think me ‘n’ you, we’re pretty good at the old bedroom gymnastics, yeah?”  
Ben chuckles. “Yeah, s’pose so,” he says grudgingly. He doesn’t want the guy getting too big-headed.  
“And to be honest,” Callum continues, “I can’t stand the sight of ya. I mean, I wouldn’t want ya to think I liked ya or anythin’.”  
He winks at Ben, and it’s possibly the sexiest thing Ben’s seen in a long time. He feels his chest getting tight and tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He lets out a chuckle that’s more of a gasp.  
“So, we could keep meetin’ up for the sex, couldn’t we? No messy emotions or anythin’. Just regular, mind-blowin’, bed-shakin’ sex. How would that grab ya?”  
Ben pretends to consider. “I s’pose I could put up with it, yeah. If I had to.”  
“I know it would be a chore, but we all ‘ave to do things in life we don’t like, don’t we?”  
“We do,” says Ben.  
“Deal, then?”  
Ben nods his head. “Deal.”  
Callum’s gentle smile floors him. He gets up and rushes through to the kitchen, where he braces himself against the sink and tries to control the tears that start to flow. He’s so overcome he doesn’t notice Callum come into the room until he’s behind him, hugging him to his chest and burying his nose in his hair.  
“S’OK,” murmurs Callum. “S’OK.”  
Ben lets himself sink back into his embrace, until he can’t bear how weak he’s being, and pushes him away. “I’m alright,” he mutters, wiping roughly at his cheeks. “You don’t have to look after me.”  
“I weren’t,” says Callum. “You don’t think I care, do ya?”

Callum goes home that night. Ben needs time to himself, so they arrange for Callum to come round the next night instead, and Ben sleeps alone in clean sheets.  
When Callum arrives the next evening, he’s carrying a big flat rectangle, wrapped in brown paper.  
“What’s this?” asks Ben as Callum shoves it in his direction.  
“Nothin’ much,” says Callum. “I’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”  
Ben frowns at him and starts to unwrap it. Inside is a framed movie poster for West Side Story. “Callum - ” begins Ben, feeling uncomfortable and yet overwhelmed at the same time.  
“I should just make it clear,” says Callum. “This ain’t for you. I bought it for purely selfish reasons. Yer walls ‘ave bin buggin’ me. They’re so empty!”  
“Right,” says Ben, looking at him through narrowed eyes.  
“And if I’m gonna be sexin’ you up in this flat, I need to make sure the ambience is right.”  
“Oh, is that right?” asks Ben. “Ambience, eh? Big word. You sure you know what it means?”  
“I am a font of knowledge,” says Callum, crowding him up against the door and kissing him. Ben submits for a second or two, and then pushes him away. 

It would be easy to fall in love with Callum. Ben can imagine that other men would, at the drop of a hat. He’s made of sterner stuff. He’s developed a range of techniques to make sure he doesn’t.  
They only meet up every few days, no more than twice a week, and talk is minimal when they do. The primary aim is to get each other off, and their success rate is staggering. It’s only when they’re lying in bed together afterwards that they trade lazy conversation about their childhoods; their likes and dislikes; their families and dreams. Much of the time one or other of them is half-asleep by that point anyway, so it can’t be regarded as proper conversation.  
Ben will often be the one left awake after they’ve worn each other out, and he’ll lie beside Callum, head propped on his hand, and watch him sleep, cataloguing all the imperfections he sees in the man. The acne scars on his forehead; the fact that his ears are just a little too big; the eyelashes that dust his cheeks that are a little too long for a bloke. Impossible to fall in love with a man with such imperfections, even if they do seem to become less imperfect every time Ben looks at them.  
Ben never asks to meet any of Callum’s friends or family, and he never introduces him to his. To do so would give their ‘arrangement’ a little more gravity than Ben is comfortable with, and so to all intents and purposes, Callum drifts in on the wind from another world, and then disappears back into that world when Ben sends him away. Having said that, sometimes when Callum calls round, he’ll knock on Gladys’ door first and she’ll pop in for a quick cuppa with them, before tactfully making her departure when the pair of them can no longer keep their eyes off each other.  
They rarely meet outside the flat. They don’t ‘socialise’. Their meetings are only for the sole purpose of sex. Not love-making. Sex. The only allowance Ben starts to make is that he will agree to Callum meeting him from work on occasion. If he were a weaker man, he’d admit that he looks forward to the evenings when Callum will pop his head round the door of the car lot portcabin with a cheeky grin and a “Your escort awaits, sir.”  
Ben will shove his paperwork in the filing cabinet and lock up, and then they’ll wander off along the summer-hot pavements towards home, sometimes stopping off in the Minute Mart for ice lollies, and Callum will talk nineteen to the dozen all the way, Ben grunting and throwing in the odd comment at regular intervals, before they get to the flat and fall into each other, ripping the clothes off their bodies as they lead each other in a slow waltz towards the bedroom.  
Ben’s just finishing up one night when Callum appears in the doorway of the portacabin. “You ready?”  
“Yeah, give me two ticks.”  
Summer is ending. There’s a hint of autumn in the air and a fresh breeze that hasn’t been there for quite a while. Ben pulls his jacket around himself and exits the cabin, pulling the door to and locking it. Callum hovers behind him, running a hand through the back of his hair. “You was all tousled,” he says when Ben frowns round at him.  
“Ben!”  
Ben curses to himself at the sound of the voice. “Me dad,” he tells Callum. “You wanna go on ahead? I’ll catch you up.”  
“OK,” says Callum. “I’ll stop off at the Minute Mart, get us some Strawberry Mivvis.”  
He crosses paths with Phil as he sets off, throwing him a friendly greeting as he leaves. Phil stares at him without responding. Then he turns and stares after him.  
“What did ya want, dad?” asks Ben.  
“Who’s that?” asks Phil.  
Ben feels put-out, like he always does when the two halves of his world collide. “Just a mate,” he says.  
Phil whirls round and backs him up against the wall of the portacabin. “Just a -? Yer a flamin’ idiot, Ben. What the hell you playin’ at?”  
All the breath is forced from Ben as Phil grabs him by the throat. He scrabbles at his hands, trying to prise them off himself. “What?”  
“That mate of yours. He’s Old Bill.”  
“He ain’t,” chokes out Ben. “He’s a security guard.”  
“He’s one of them that was sniffin’ round at the Arches,” insists Phil. You flamin’ idiot! He’s a copper!”

FOUR – A TOAST TO ABSENT FRIENDS

Callum’s just coming out of the shop, already slurping on a lolly, when Ben catches up with him. He approaches him with a soft smile and an outstretched hand. “They didn’t have any Mivvis so I got ya a Solero.”  
Ben slaps the iced lolly out of his hand. It slithers across the pavement and lands in the gutter. “When was you gonna tell me, Callum?”  
Callum looks shocked, but there’s something else under the surface of his expression. Resignation, maybe. He must have known this moment would arrive. “Tell you what?” he asks in a cautious tone.  
“What d’ya think, eh? That Father Christmas don’t exist? Yer a bleedin’ copper, Callum! You lied to me!”  
“I’m sorry.”  
Ben is astounded that the guy thinks a measly apology is going to cut it. “That’s it? Yer sorry?” He thumps a hand into the middle of Callum’s chest and pushes him up against the window of the shop. “You’ve bin hangin’ around me for weeks. You under-cover or somethin’?”  
“No, course not!” protests Callum, trying to prise Ben’s fist off his shirt with only one hand. His iced lolly drips neon orange liquid onto the pavement from his other hand. “Why would I be under-cover? You’ve got a reputation, Ben. I knew you’d bin in a bit of bother but I didn’t know the details. I also knew you wouldn’t look twice at me if I told you I was a cop.” He manages to release Ben’s fingers, and holds his fist in his hand against his chest. “I fancied ya, OK? I saw ya in the club and I fancied the pants off ya. That ain’t a crime, is it? I wanted to sleep with ya. I only thought it would be a one-off. You was the one who called me for round two.”  
“Because there was no one else available!” yells Ben. “You don’t think I was bothered about ya, do ya? I just wanted someone to get me off.” He steps back and snatches his hand from Callum’s. “And let’s face it, you didn’t exactly put up much of a fight, did ya? Couldn’t come runnin’ quick enough, could ya?”  
“I thought…” Callum’s voice trails off.  
“What? Ya thought I liked ya or somethin’? You thought we was gonna get married and take out joint gym membership?” Ben scoffs. “Do me a favour.”  
He looks to the sky, taking a deep breath, so as to avoid seeing the way Callum’s face falls.  
“I never put two and two together, Ben,” says Callum. “Honest to god, yer dad – I never realised the two of ya was - . I only just realised who he was!”  
Ben scoffs again. “And you call yerself a copper?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “D’you know what’s worst about all this? Do ya?” He crowds Callum back against the shop again and jabs him in the chest. “YOU were the one tellin’ me I shouldn’t keep people at a distance. YOU were the one sayin’ I should let people in, trust ‘em. And YOU are the one who’s bin lyin’ to me!”  
“I know,” says Callum, anguished. “I know! I shoulda told ya, but it got harder and harder, and I messed up.” He reaches up and slides a soft hand into Ben’s hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I want us to get through this.”  
There’s a second when Ben wants nothing more, when he dares to hope, but then the reality of his world comes crashing back in. He slaps Callum’s hand away and shakes his head. “We can’t. I can’t be seen to be on-side with Old Bill.” He steps away from Callum. “Turns out I was right, yeah? There’s no point gettin’ close to people, cos they always hurt ya in the end.”  
He turns and strides off down the street, half-expecting Callum to come chasing after him, but there are no hurried footsteps behind him. Nobody follows him. He heads off for home alone.

By the time he gets back to his flat, he’s convinced himself that nothing’s changed. His life is going to be exactly as it always used to be, a whole lot easier, without the underlying feeling that it’s set to spiral out of control at any moment. He prefers it that way, always has done. Manageable. Safe. As he glowers up at the poster of West Side Story on his wall, he realises the only minor inconvenience is that he’s going to have to put in more of an effort to get sex when he needs it. Not a big problem. He’s managed it before, he’ll do it again – and this time without the messy emotions that people are always lying in wait to entangle you with. Serves him right for thinking a repeat performance wouldn’t hurt.  
He goes into work as normal the next day. It unsettles him slightly that he’s heard no more from Phil, but as it happens he doesn’t have to wait long on that score. Mid-morning, he’s selling the merits of a dodgy Ford Fiesta to a young woman who’s looking to buy her first-ever car when he sees Phil approaching from across the Square, accompanied by Danny Hardcastle. He curses to himself. This is it, then.  
“We’re closing,” says Phil to the woman as he grabs Ben by the arm and frog-marches him into the cabin.  
Once inside, he pushes Ben down onto the customer seats and towers over him. Hardcastle leans back coolly against the closed door with folded arms.  
“Dad, I swear I had no idea about him bein’ a cop,” begins Ben. “I’ve given ‘im the heave-ho, so there’s nothin’ to worry about, I promise ya.”  
Phil gives him a vicious back-swipe across his cheek with his hand. “Ya think that’s gonna cut it?” he bellows. “Ya think I was born yesterday, Ben? What’ve ya told ‘im?”  
“Nothin’!” Ben cradles his cheek, a sudden rush of adrenalin causing his hand to shake. “I swear! He don’t know anythin’. He didn’t even clock that we was related til he saw ya yesterday.”  
For a second Phil looks like he might be placated, but then Hardcastle pipes up from where he’s blocking the exit. “Come on, son. We’re not stupid. He was on the look-out for intel from ya. How much does he know?”  
“Nothin’!”  
Hardcastle wanders over to stand beside Phil. “So we’re supposed to believe that a copper saw you and thought, yeah, I fancy a bit of that? With no ulterior motive? I mean, look at ya! I wouldn’t touch ya with a truncheon the size of a bargepole.”  
Ben looks up beseechingly at his dad, but Phil’s looking down at him as if he’s something he’s trodden in, the expression on his face matching Hardcastle’s.  
“Maybe,” says Hardcastle, his tone still measured and reasonable, “if you’d kept it in yer pants, this whole operation wouldn’t now be in jeopardy. But the fact is, it’s buggered, which is ironic, ain’t it?” He sneers at Ben. “I’ve sunk a lot of capital into this, and I was expectin’ a decent return. An’ if a filthy little poof’s just threatened that, well, I’m gonna have ta teach ‘im a lesson, ain’t I?”  
He steps away and then swings back round and punches Ben hard across the side of his head, knocking him off balance so that he ends up sprawled across the row of seats. Before Ben can recover, he’s laying into him, raining punch after punch down on him, until all Ben can do is try and brace himself for the worst of it. The air is filled with Hardcastle’s heavy breathing from his exertions, and Ben’s cries and grunts as Hardcastle makes impact. All the time it’s happening, Phil stares down at him, as implacable as if he’s watching a vaguely boring movie on the telly.  
It stops only because Hardcastle runs out of steam. He steps back, panting, with his fists still clenched at his sides. Ben struggles to sit up, cradling his tender stomach and wiping at the blood that’s flowing down his face.  
Phil holds out his hand. “Keys.”  
“What?” croaks Ben, flinching at his dad’s sudden movement.  
“Give me yer keys. Yer finished here.”  
“Dad, no!” pleads Ben. “There’s no harm done. I promise ya he don’t know anythin’ about - ”  
“I don’t care about loverboy, I only want you outta ‘ere,” says Phil. “You’ve let me down, Ben. It ain’t the first time, but it sure as hell is gonna be the last. Give me the keys and make yerself scarce. Yer an embarrassment to me.”

Later that evening, Ben’s woken up by the sound of banging on his door. He’s not entirely sure how he managed to get home. He only knows every step had been an agony. He’d sidled into the toilets in the Vic to try and clean himself up a bit, and left immediately afterwards, making sure that no one noticed him.  
The banging on his door isn’t stopping. He lurches to a sitting position and catches sight of himself in the mirror on the wardrobe. His left eye is swollen and black, and there’s a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose, another down towards the corner of his mouth. His stomach is so tender he thinks he’s not going to be able to eat for at least a week. He closes his eyes and swallows thickly, then heaves himself to a standing position and heads out unsteadily to answer the door.  
It’s him. Of course it’s him. In an irony that Maria from West Side Story would find a bit much, he’s wearing his police uniform. His eyes widen in shock as he sees the state of Ben.  
“You come to arrest me for assaultin’ a police officer?” croaks Ben.  
“What the hell’s happened, Ben?” Callum raises a hand as if he’s about to cup Ben’s cheek, but Ben flinches away from him.  
“You can’t be here, alright? Just go.”  
He tries to close the door, but Callum wedges a foot in it. “Tell me who did this to ya.”  
“Who d’ya think?” asks Ben wearily.  
“Yer dad?”  
“And his ‘business associate’. So thanks for that,” says Ben. “Because you tricked me into sleepin’ with the Old Bill they think I’m a grass now.” He indicates himself with a sweep of his hand. “And this is what happens to grasses.”  
“You should report ‘em!” exclaims Callum. “We can prosecute.”  
Ben chuckles mirthlessly. “Nah. That’s what happens in your world, Callum. Not in mine. And besides, if I reported ‘em that really would be it, wouldn’t it? Me dad wouldn’t have anythin’ else to do with me.” He leans against the door-frame, feeling lightheaded. “I mean, he’s disowned me anyway, but I just gotta prove meself again, ain’t I? Which I will. But you’ve just made me job even harder. So I hope yer proud.”  
“Prove yerself?” asks Callum, his eyes narrowing. “What you talkin’ about? Why would you wanna prove yerself to a bully like that?”  
Ben stares at him as if he’s being an idiot. “Because he’s me dad, Callum. Because he’s all I’ve got. Now move yer foot and let me close the door.”  
“He ain’t all you’ve got, Ben,” says Callum, nearly in tears. “You’ve got me.”  
Ben scoffs.  
“You’ve got me!” insists Callum. “And which would ya rather have? All of me, or the dregs of a man like yer dad, whenever he decides you’re worthy of ‘em?”  
Ben shakes his head. “You don’t get it.”  
“So explain it to me!”  
“He’s me dad,” Ben says simply. “And I don’t want you, Callum. Yer more trouble than yer worth.”  
He moves again to close the door, and this time Callum lets him. The last image Ben has of him is those wide blue eyes spilling with tears.  
He moves across to the couch and collapses onto it, his stomach stiff and tender. He grabs for his phone where he’d left it on the coffee table and sees that Callum had been trying to contact him before he called round. He deletes the call history, and then scrolls down to his dad’s number.  
He takes a deep breath as the call connects and he hears Phil’s gravelly voicemail message. “Dad? It’s me. Listen, I’m sorry, OK? I really ain’t done anythin’ to jeopardise yer deal, you’ve gotta believe me. I mean, the Old Bill would’ve acted by now if I had, wouldn’t they? So, I’m just callin’ to say, I know I deserved what you and Danny dished out today, but call me, please? I’ll do anything it takes to make things right, OK?”  
In the time it takes him to leave the message, he’s received a text from Callum. My dad was a bully too, and he had power over me until I decided 2 shut him out of my life. I had the power 2 do that, and you do 2. Please call me Ben, I wanna help.  
As he always does, Ben deletes the message. Shutting Phil out of his life? Not gonna happen. 

He skulks around in the flat for the best part of four days until the bruises start to fade and his stomach feels less tender. By the fifth day, he feels like he needs some human company, and he pops his head out of his door when he hears Gladys outside sweeping the landing.  
“What in Jesus’ name happened to you?” she asks.  
He musters up a chuckle. “You shoulda seen the other guy.”  
“Not that nice Callum?” she asks, with a look of dread on her face.  
“Course not. No, some random. Jumped me for me wallet.”  
“They get it?”  
“Nah,” he scoffs. “I ain’t soft. You alright? Yer lookin’ a bit pale.”  
“Oh, I’m alright,” she says, leaning heavily on her brush. “Just bin feelin’ a bit breathless these last few days.” She grins at him. “Gettin’ old. Preparin’ to meet me maker!”  
“Nah, not you,” says Ben. “You’ll outlive us all.”  
“Callum comin’ round tonight?” she asks hopefully.  
He grins at her. “I swear you fancy ‘im more than me.”  
“He’s a lovely young man. And so are you, if you’d only let yerself believe it. The pair of you are a good match.”  
His grin dims down to a sad smile, and he clears his throat of the lump that suddenly seems to have lodged in it.  
“You ain’t goin’ down the shop any time soon, are ya Glad?”  
“I am as it ‘appens. What d’ya want?”  
“Couldn’t get me a box of Strawberry Mivvis couldya? If they ain’t got ‘em, get me some Soleros, yeah? Think you can get ‘em back ‘ere before they’ve melted?”  
She waves her brush at him. “You cheeky young so and so!” 

He’s not heard from his dad. He leaves a message a day, sometimes two, but there’s nothing in return. Equally, there’s nothing further from Callum. He wonders if this is his opportunity to make a clean break. Go legit like he’s kidded himself he could in the past and maybe move away to start a completely new life. It feels like a huge weight of negativity is pressing down on him though. He doesn’t have the energy to even contemplate what else he could do with his life, much less take any positive steps. He tells himself he’s still recovering from his beating. He’ll feel more like taking control of his life once he’s fighting fit again. He doesn’t tell himself that he’s missing Callum, although sometimes when he’s sitting watching some trashy show on the telly he’ll find his eyes have drifted to the movie poster on his wall and he’s got no idea what’s been going on for the last fifteen minutes of his telly programme. What’s more, he just can’t bring himself to throw out the toothbrush he’d allowed Callum to bring over and place beside his own in the mug in the bathroom. It sits there in accusation, though of what he can’t quite decipher.  
He finds he craves company, but he can’t face popping into the Albert where there are far too many people – and a risk of running into Callum – so often he’ll go for a walk around the area at any hour of the day or night, whenever the urge takes him, finding that being in the proximity of others is enough without any meaningful conversation. Some days, just the exchange of a couple of words with the local shopkeeper is enough to sustain him. On days when it isn’t, he’ll pop in on Gladys. He’ll catch her looking closely at him sometimes. She clearly knows something’s bothering him, and she must have noticed the absence of Callum, but she’s kind enough not to mention it. They’ll sit in companionable silence watching Homes Under the Hammer, or he’ll watch as she knits jumpers and scarves ready for the winter, mesmerised into a trance by the click of her needles and almost asleep from the heat of the electric fire she’s already turned on to ward off the approaching winter, all the while being watched himself by the painted eyes of her china West Highland Terrier that sits on the side table next to his chair.  
One evening as he’s returning from a long walk designed to tire him out so he can finally get a good night’s sleep, Gladys’ son is just coming out of her flat with a bag in his hand. He glances at Ben and then focusses on locking the door behind himself.  
Ben frowns. “Everythin’ OK? Gladys not in there?”  
The bloke turns to face him. “Nah mate. She’ve had a bad turn. Suspected heart attack. I’m just takin’ some bits up the hospital for her.”  
Ben feels like all the stuffing’s been knocked out of him. “But she’s gonna be OK, though, yeah?”  
The bloke shrugs.  
“Nah, she’s a tough old bird. She’ll be fine,” says Ben, trying to convince himself as much as anything. “You send her my best, yeah?”  
“I will mate, yeah.”  
It feels like one more thing weighing down on him. Paul, Phil, Callum, Gladys. Nothing to be done to make any difference with regard to any of them, all he can do is sink slowly under the weight of it all. In the coming days he misses having Gladys to talk to, and it feels strange not to hear the sound of her telly drifting through the walls.  
He continues his calls to his dad until, one day, he decides he’s going to have to bite the bullet and go to see him. It’s been six weeks since his beating, his dad must have calmed down by now.  
He hears Phil before he sees him as he rounds the corner to the arches. “And when you’ve finished that, nip over the car lot and get those cars shifted around. Oh, and Keanu? Bring us back them log books an’ all.”  
Ben hesitates just outside the door, and takes a deep breath, then steps quietly inside. Phil is working on some paperwork at the desk. Another man – Keanu, presumably – has his head under the bonnet of a BMW. At Ben’s quiet “Dad,” both men look up. Keanu stares at him curiously whilst wiping the car’s dip-stick on an already oily rag. Phil’s face is impassive.  
“What d’ya want? I’m busy.”  
Ben throws a sideways glance at Keanu. “I, uh… wondered if we could talk. In private.”  
“What about?”  
Ben takes a step closer to him. “You know what about.”  
“About how you tried to sabotage me business cos you couldn’t keep it in yer pants?” Phil shifts round in his seat to face Ben. “There ain’t nothin’ else to say. Unless you want me to list all the ways you’ve let me down over the years. Might take all mornin’ though, an’ like I said, I’m busy. So, if ya don’t mind, me and Keanu here need to get on.”  
He turns back to his desk, and Keanu gives Ben a blank stare.  
Turning around and walking out of there is the hardest thing Ben’s ever had to do. Admitting defeat. Soaking up the humiliation. He feels like punching Phil, and punching Keanu with his stupid blank face, punching the wall, going across to the car lot and chucking a brick through every single windscreen of every single car. Instead, he does what he always does these days. He walks.  
He heads out east, walking for miles and miles, walking off the pain and the hurt and the humiliation, past houses and shops and pubs and parks and play areas; walking until his brain stops whirring and his thoughts are just reduced to the effort required to put one foot in front of the other.  
As he loops round and heads back towards home, a single idea crystalizes in his head. He will make something of himself. He’ll show Phil that he doesn’t need him. In five years’ time he’ll have built an empire to rival anything Phil could even dream at, but he’ll do it legitimately. He’ll show him. And then Phil can come crawling to him, and maybe, maybe, Ben’ll give him the time of day – or maybe not.  
He’s exhausted as he climbs the stairs to his flat. As he nears the top, he can hear banging and crashing coming from above. Maybe Gladys is back from hospital. He quickens his steps, hoping she’s not out brushing the landing already. She’ll need to get some rest and recuperation before she’s back to her old self.  
He’s pulled up short on the top step. Across the landing are boxes, furniture, the entire contents of a life. Gladys’ flat door is open. He approaches cautiously and peers inside. Across a nearly empty room, Gladys’ son is emptying the sideboard drawers of their contents and shoving them in a cardboard box.  
“What’s goin’ on?” asks Ben.  
The bloke looks up tiredly. “Oh, you alright mate?” He gestures around the flat. “Just clearin’ out.”  
Ben’s throat tightens. “Why? Where’s Gladys?”  
“She, uh… she died mate. Last weekend.”  
No, no no! Ben’s brain refuses to accept it. He staggers and leans against the doorframe. “What?”  
The bloke continues to pack Gladys’ belongings roughly into the cardboard box, and Ben wants to stride across the room and tear them from his hands. His main concern is obviously to clear everything out as quickly as possible with no thought for protecting anything.  
“You can’t just clear everythin’ out!” exclaims Ben in an anguished voice.  
The bloke looks at him curiously. “Have to, mate. The rent’s only paid up to this weekend, and the landlord wants to re-let.”  
“But these are Gladys’ things!” insists Ben. “She cared about ‘em.”  
The bloke shrugs. “Listen,” he says, in a conciliatory tone. “If you wanna pick out a keepsake, be my guest, but it’s all gotta go. There’s nothin’ valuable here, I’m just gonna take it all down the charity shop.”  
Bens stares at him, stricken.  
“You’ll have to be quick though, mate. I’m finishin’ up here soon.”  
How do you pick one thing to remind you of a whole human life? What single object could possibly encapsulate everything that bossy, sharp-tongued, kind-hearted woman meant to Ben? He stares around, unseeing, until his gaze alights on the china West Highland terrier that used to watch him from the coffee table when he spent his evenings with her. “Can I have this?” he asks, picking it up.  
The bloke’s lips quirk, as if he’s about to make a joke, but he simply nods, and carries on with what he’s doing. Ben picks his way across the landing between the debris of Gladys’ life and lets himself into his flat. He places the china dog gently on the book shelves, still empty save for another pile of junk mail, and sinks down onto the couch with his head in his hands.  
He’s thankful to have known Gladys, and it’s taken her death to make him realise that she was right all along. Everyone needs a little help to get through this life. He hopes he provided as much company and friendship to her as she did to him.  
He fixes himself some food and takes a shower, but despite having walked himself to exhaustion earlier, he feels restless and can’t settle. Eventually he decides that, seeing as he’s losing everyone from his life, he’s gonna have to make some new friends, even if they do only last a couple of hours and provide a single service. He makes himself presentable and heads out to the Albert with the intention of losing himself in some mindless, emotionless, no-strings-attached sex.  
The club is busy already for mid-evening on a weekday night. He buys himself a beer and a shot, and knocks both back in quick succession, leaning against the bar. When the bartender comes his way again he orders more and knocks them back in quick succession too.  
He orders a third beer and another shot, and reels across the dance floor to find a seat on the far side, from where he casts an eye over the action. There are only a few punters up and dancing so far, and as he sits there, looking on from the outside, he’s suddenly struck by how meaningless it all seems. He watches the courtship rituals of all these men, all looking for someone to occupy their minds and bodies for a couple of hours, and is struck by how shallow it all seems. He doesn’t want this. He wants a real, proper connection with someone, not necessarily sexual, just human. He’s had it before, with a beautiful, open, caring boy who died because of him; with a bossy, kindhearted woman who was convinced his soul was going to hell - and she probably wasn’t wrong – and with a bloke who’d blown into his life when his guard was down and destroyed him by lying to him. And as he sits there in his isolation, with the music and the chatter going on around him, he realises he wouldn’t have missed a single second of any of it.  
He heads back to the bar to order another beer and a shot, and returns to his seat, but when he gets there, someone else has taken it.  
He slams his drinks on the table in front of the guy, most of the beer sloshing out onto the table. “I was sittin’ there,” he slurs.  
The bloke looks up at him coolly, “Well you’re not now, are ya?” and then goes back to his discussion with his friend.  
Something in his eyes reminds Ben of Danny Hardcastle and he can feel the blood beginning to surge in his head. “I SAID, I was sittin’ there.”  
The guy stands up and squares up to him. “And I am sitting here now. So do one, shortarse.”  
It’s the final straw. Ben’s had enough of being disrespected by people who aren’t worthy of cleaning his shoes. He launches a punch at the guy that lands squarely on his jaw, and then all hell lets loose. The guy punches back and they spill out onto the dancefloor, tumbling and rolling around, each of them trying to land punches on the other, with punters scattering around them and drinks flying.  
It all ends when someone grabs Ben by the collar and pulls him upright. A copper. “Right sir, calm it down,” he says. “Take it easy.”  
A few steps away another copper is talking to Ben’s opponent. Ben sees his face and swears. “Oh, fuckin’ great!” It’s Callum. Of course it’s Callum. That’s the kind of luck Ben gets in his life.  
“Alright, tone the language down sir,” says the copper next to Ben. “What’s going on?”  
“Nothin’,” says Ben. “I’m just goin’ home.”  
“Yes, I think that would be wise,” says the copper.  
Callum comes over to them. “He don’t wanna press charges,” he says. “Just said it got a bit out of hand.” He glances at Ben with disappointment in his eyes, then looks quickly away and addresses his comments to his colleague. “Lucky really, cos the paperwork would’ve bin a pain in the arse.”  
“Yeah,” says his colleague, addressing Ben again. “We’re just about to go off-shift, so you got lucky sir, but don’t let it happen again, you hear me?”  
Ben rolls his eyes, but nods.  
“Right, well, let me escort you off the premises, sir.” The copper takes a gentle hold of Ben’s arm and leads him across the dancefloor in front of the amused eyes of the other punters, and out of the door, Callum following close behind.  
“Listen,” says Callum to his colleague once they’re outside. “I know this bloke. Leave him with me, I’ll make sure he goes on his way. Let me have a chat with him.”  
“Alright,” says the other copper. “I’ll wait at the end of the road.”  
Callum nods and steers Ben along the alley at the side of the club, stopping once they’re out of range of the street lamps and pushing him gently up against the wall. Ben can just about make out his face in the strip of moonlight that illuminates their side of the alley.  
“Gonna send me on me way, are ya?” he sneers. “Go on then. I don’t need ya. Or anyone else.”  
“What was all that about, Ben?” asks Callum in a low, sad voice. “What’s goin’ on with ya?”  
His eyes are gentle. He darts a quick glance towards the mouth of the alleyway to make sure no one can see them, and then reaches up to run a hand through Ben’s hair. Ben feels like crying at his touch.  
He shrugs. “I’m just tired. And pissed.” He cracks a smile, but Callum is still looking at him with concern in his eyes. “And I miss ya,” he blurts out, cursing himself as soon as he’s said it and staring at a point somewhere near Callum’s shoes so that he doesn’t have to see the expression on his face.  
“I miss ya too,” admits Callum quietly.  
Ben takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to control the tears that are threatening to fall. “Gladys died,” he says.  
Callum draws in a breath. “No! Shit! I’m so sorry Ben. I know how much she meant to ya.” He grins cheekily. “No matter how much ya tried to make out you couldn’t stand her.”  
Ben huffs out a laugh and Callum looks hard at him, then draws him into a hug. “C’mere.”  
It’s possibly the most perfect thing he could have done for Ben at that moment. Ben melts into it and lets Callum hold him up. If he could, he’d stay there forever, in that dark, narrow alley that smells of piss. At that moment it feels like heaven on earth to him.  
Eventually, he pushes Callum away. “Yer mate’ll be thinkin’ I’ve bashed you over the ‘ead or somethin’. And besides which, I think yer truncheon was poking me thigh.”  
Callum huffs out a laugh that communicates exasperation as much as humour. “I ‘ad better get on,” he agrees. “You alright to get home on yer own?”  
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine, says Ben,” rubbing a quick hand over his eyes that are suddenly wet. “Don’t worry about me.”  
“OK, I’ll be off then.” Callum backs away slowly and gestures behind himself. “Gotta go and clock out at the station.”  
“Yeah, go,” says Ben. “It, uh… it was nice to see ya.”  
Callum gives him a soft smile. “Yeah, you too. Take care Ben.” He looks as if he’s about to say more, but then he turns and quickly makes his way out of the alleyway. 

Ben half-expects a text from Callum the next day, given how persistent the bloke had been in the past, but there’s nothing. He doesn’t check his phone every half an hour or so, and he certainly doesn’t check that it’s charged when it doesn’t beep once, for any reason, in an entire seven hour stretch. Let’s face it, there’s hardly anyone that would contact him now anyway, and when he gets a marketing message from Domino pizzas, he reflects ruefully that it probably represents the deepest relationship in his life at this time.  
He sits on the couch watching telly for most of the day and nursing his wounds yet again. The guy in the club hadn’t caused a lot of damage, just a couple of bruises. It’s more the additional damage to his ego that Ben needs to address.  
He finds his attention wandering across to the poster on his wall again, and then further across to Gladys’ china dog, watching him balefully from the shelf, and it occurs to him that it might be nice to have a reminder of Paul in his flat, too. He goes into the bedroom and digs around at the top of the wardrobe until he finds the little box of keepsakes he’s held on to, and then spends an hour sorting through it, gazing at photos, cradling trinkets and remembering good days in the past, when it felt like he had the whole world ahead of him and the possibilities were endless.  
He finally decides on a shot of Paul that he’d taken on a day trip to Brighton. The shutter had closed just as Paul was looking back at Ben, his hair rippling in the breeze and a smile of sheer delight on his face. It makes Ben smile just to look at it.  
He doesn’t have a frame for it, so he places it upright on the shelf in the living room next to the china dog, and resolves to get a frame the next time he ventures out to the market. He’s not normally given to flights of fancy, but he thinks maybe the china dog’s expression is just a little bit more forgiving once he’s placed the photo next to it. He sits there that evening, surrounded by the artefacts of his life; the objects that prove he’s loved and been loved, and feels a little bit better about himself.  
It’s getting late, nearly half past ten, when there’s a knock on the door. His heart skips a beat as he goes to open it.  
He’s clutching a bottle of whisky in his hand. “Thought maybe we could toast Gladys,” he says. “That’s if yer gonna let me in?”  
Ben tries to dial down the shy smile on his face. “Might do, if you promise not to lie to me again.”  
Calum puts his hand on his heart. “Policeman’s honour.”  
“You’d better come in then.” Ben opens the door wider to let him in. “Not brought yer truncheon?”  
“Depends which one yer talkin’ about,” says Callum, stepping through the door and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He looks around the room as Ben takes the whisky bottle from his hand and crosses to fetch glasses from the kitchen. “You’ve got stuff!” he exclaims, “In yer livin’ room! Ornaments and pictures and stuff.”  
Ben comes back across to stand beside him in front of the shelves. “That belonged to Gladys,” he says, pointing to the china dog. “And that,” pointing to the photo, “is my Paul.”  
Callum stares at the photo for a long time with a faint smile on his face. “He’s beautiful,” he says eventually.  
“He is,” agrees Ben.  
Callum turns to wrap an arm around Ben’s shoulders. “I never knew him, obviously, but he looks like the kind of bloke who’d want ya to be happy. I think you should try an’ be happy.”  
“And how do I do that?” asks Ben.  
Callum crosses to sit on the couch and unscrews the bottle of whisky. “Well, you get yer dad out of yer life, to start with.”  
“Already done,” says Ben.  
Callum throws him an impressed look. “Excellent. And then, step two, ya find yerself a nice bloke.”  
Ben joins him on the couch. “Oh yeah? Got anyone in mind?”  
“Might have,” says Callum. “What about you?”  
“Well, there was this one bloke,” says Ben slowly. “I only wanted a quick shag but he was kinda insistent. Started stalkin’ me til I just couldn’t get rid of ‘im. And he’s still showing stalker tendencies, even now.”  
“He sounds ideal,” says Callum, handing Ben his glass of whisky and picking up his own. He tips it in the direction of the shelves. “To Gladys. She always knew we was meant to be together. She was a diamond.” He puts his arm around Ben and pulls him in close to his side.  
“To absent friends,” adds Ben, raising his own glass.


End file.
